Playing Hooky
by AllyinthekeyofX
Summary: - Who was it that said Doctors make lousy patients? Mulder attempts to alleviate Scullys boredom as she recuperates from the whole Ritter thing. Just a little one-shot to unblock my muse and get me back on track with the big fic I'm wrestling with. Post 'Tithonus' Rating K for a couple of bad words. Other than that it's one-shot fluff.
**Playing Hooky**
By

AllyinthekeyofX

RATING - K+ for a few bad words

CLASSIFICATION - MSR Post-Ep TITHONUS MulderPOV/First person

SPOILERS - Tithonus

REVIEWS – Reviews are more precious than watching a chick-flick with just ice-cream and wine for company.

DISCLAIMER - They aren't mine. And frankly, this fic is just way too insignificant for me to justify it any further than that. g

SUMMARY - Who was it that said Doctors make lousy patients? Mulder attempts to alleviate Scullys boredom as she recuperates from the whole Ritter thing. Just a little one-shot to unblock my muse and get me back on track with the big fic I'm wrestling with.

Scully is bored.

 _Correction_

Scully is bored, antsy, tired and angry at the world right now.

Add to that whole cacophony of emotional turmoil a gunshot wound that isn't healing as quickly as she'd like and we have a recipe for disaster.

Listening to her on the phone just now - the _fourth_ call in the space of two hours I might add - as she pathetically attempted to deny that she was crawling the walls, made my decision an easy one.

I'm aware I'm in the process of going AWOL which isn't exactly going to endear me to our beloved AD Kersch, but then again what's another small misdemeanour when you compare it to the mounting pile of faux pas Scully and I have committed since finding ourselves thrust under his less than supportive command?

The guy is kind of an enigma to me. He doesn't *hate* us exactly – or at least I don't think he does. But I get the feeling that he was as horrified as we were when he suddenly found himself saddled with Mr and Mrs Spooky.

I think maybe we have upset the delicate balance of his well-oiled manure detecting machine.

What can I say? Scully and I just don't _do_ fertilizer.

Simple as that.

So, here I am, jacket discarded, shirt sleeves rolled up, tie loosened comfortably, making a bee line for Scully's apartment and whistling as I do it.

 _Whistling_ for Christ's sake.

Obviously I have no conscience anymore with regards to my precarious position within the Bureau.

What I do have though, is an obligation towards my partner.

And, if she's pissed off, then I see it as my purpose in life to alleviate that.

Of course, at the back of my mind is the mind numbing realization that I almost lost her.

Again

Only this time around, it wasn't as a result of anything I did. This time she almost died because of the blind stupidity of a rookie agent who was prepared to go to any lengths to ensure his fast track ascent up the golden rungs of the VCS division ladder.

 _Ritter_

My hands tighten on the steering wheel as I once again roll his loathsome name around my tongue.

Feeling the bitter taste of unrequited revenge rising up at the back of my throat.

The man who almost killed my partner. My Scully.

The man whose hands were still covered in her crimson blood when in a blind fury I barrelled in to that New York Hospital and wrapped my _own_ hands around his throat.

The only thing that stopped me squeezing the life out of the bastard there and then was the sight of Scully, her eyes tightly closed against the pain, being wheeled away from me as they took her up to the OR to repair the damage the bullet had wreaked as it tore through her delicate flesh.

Suddenly, Ritter was reduced to the insignificant little toad that he was, and I dropped him like the proverbial hot coal before sprinting after my partner.

I reached her just before she disappeared in to the elevator, grasping her pale, slender hand in mine as though my life depended on it. I was rewarded a thousand fold when her eyes fluttered open and she regarded from behind the drug induced haze.

And even then, as sick and hurting as she was, she sought only to lessen my own pain.

I hadn't realized I was crying. I have no conscious recollection of when the tears began to form crystalline paths down my face. Only that she shakily reached up, wincing as she did so, and smoothed the wetness away.

" _I'll be fine. I'll see you later"_

And then she was gone.

I hadn't believed her. I was convinced that I would never see her again. Never look in to those luminous china blue eyes that could converse with my soul without her ever having to utter a spoken word, never feel the fluttering of her hands against my skin as she chased away my demons, held my nightmares at bay. Never watch her smile that gentle smile when I needed someone _, anyone_ , to give me a reason to believe in myself. That I still had something to offer a world that had already taken so much.

And with that thought came the stark realization that if she _did_ die, then I would surely follow her.

That a life without Scully wouldn't be a life worth living.

 _But, of course I should really have known better._

Because my Scully is tough. Pure and simple.

She survived and so did I.

I brought her home a mere eight days later and left her in the care of her Mom. She protested weakly of course. It's not Scully's way to admit need. But I think even she appreciated that she was in no shape to care for herself.

The placement of the healing wound made it difficult for her to even walk around without pain arriving once again to cloud her delicate features, so she accepted the help that was offered to her with rare equanimity.

Not for long, of course. That would just be too much to hope for.

She insisted vehemently two days ago, she was recovered sufficiently cope alone and neither Maggie nor I wasted time arguing with her.

It wouldn't have done any good anyway.

And she _is_ okay. Of that I have no doubt. But she's as bored as hell, and from bitter experience, I've discovered that a bored Scully is a dangerous one and I wouldn't put it past her to push her still healing body too far.

So, I have come prepared.

I took a quick side trip on leaving the office.

It makes me smile to realize that despite her guarded exterior, I know this woman almost as well as she knows herself. Six years spent with someone, day in and day out means you get to pretty much know their likes and dislikes.

Scully has a penchant for what she and her kind would term _Romantic comedy_. Light hearted romantic blurb of the movie variety.

 _In other words a Chick Flick_

Now, I'm not the most sensitive guy in these regards - a nice B rated Sci Fi is more my scene - but I know enough about women, and Scully in particular, to know which buttons to press.

Jostling for space on the passenger seat beside me are all the elements that will hopefully drive all thoughts of a premature return to work out of Scully's mind.

 _At least for the remainder of today._

A bottle of mid price white wine.

Gallo Turning Leaf, to be precise.

One of Scully's favourites.

Okay, so she probably shouldn't be drinking too much - I'm not entirely sure whether she's still taking regular pain relief - but I figure one glass won't hurt.

A quart of Rocky road ice cream.

She loves ice cream, straight out of the tub, although recently she's been on a kind of health kick and has substituted full fat for some insipid tasting tofu based shit.

This knowledge didn't deter me though, because I know she won't resist the urge.

Ice cream is like a drug with this woman.

The video of course.

Recommended to me by the guy in the store who took one look at the wine and ice cream and raised his eyebrows knowingly. I glance across at the title.

' _While you were sleeping'_.

I've never heard of it, but the guy was insistent. If it turns out to be a bad choice I'll just go back and shoot him.

After I've shot _myself_ of course.

And finally, the impulse buy to end all impulse buys.

 _Flowers._

Not just any old flowers either. No daises or chrysanthemums here.

These are _quality_ flowers.

Twelve huge tiger lilies, velvet petals against a backdrop of delicate green fern, bound with wide, white ribbon. I had to buy them. It was a decision totally out of my control. Something about them just screamed Scully. Maybe it was the colour. I don't know. Whatever it was I handed over my Visa card without batting an eyelid when faced with the cost.

I'm aware though that if anything is guaranteed to put Scully right back in the hospital it'll be the sight of me holding out the bouquet to her.

I don't buy flowers. Never have. The one time I ever offered her anything even vaguely resembling them was that painful day when she called me to the hospital to break the news that she had Cancer.

I bought flowers because at the time I didn't know what else to do. What do you offer your best friend when she's standing there calmly telling you that she is going to die?

At the time, flowers seemed as good a thing as any.

But that was a long time ago, or at least it seems that way.

And against all the odds, she survived that too.

Like I said before, Scully is _tough_.

It's a good thing that my car knows its way to her apartment building, because my mind has been drifting during the journey over here, and I'm kind of surprised when I roll to a halt outside the beautiful Georgian building that my partner calls home.

I take one more glance across at my hoard of Scullyesque goodies, wondering suddenly if I'm doing the right thing.

But then I take a deep breath and, before my courage can fail me completely, I scoop everything up in my arms, exiting the car without a second thought.

It takes her a while to answer the door but eventually, I hear the sound of locks being turned and chains pulled across.

Scully is very security conscious.

After everything that's happened over the past six years, I can't say I blame her.

Her face appears before me, eyes widening as she registers who it is that has disturbed her afternoon, and the expression on her face seems...

 _Guilty. She looks guilty._

"Mulder...what are you doing here?"

Not exactly the greeting I had hoped for, but I smile in return anyway.

"Playing hooky. I figured that the Doo-doo could survive an afternoon without me."

She smiles wanly back at me but makes no other move. Eventually, conscious that the ice cream is beginning to melt I take the initiative.

"So, Scully, you gonna let me in or what?"

I don't like the way she reddens slightly, as if she is embarrassed by my sudden appearance and for a fleeting, moment that makes the blood literally turn to ice in my veins, I wonder if she's got a guy here.

Which is stupid I admit. But my paranoid insecurities can be a bitch at times.

But eventually she simply nods and steps aside, allowing me entrance.

And _then_ I understand.

The apartment is littered with boxes, the contents of which are scattered haphazardly around the room. Both doors of the giant pine closet that graces the corner of Scully's sitting room are hanging open. From my position at the rooms' threshold I can see that it is empty.

Scully is having a clear-out it seems.

My recently shot-in-the-guts partner, not two weeks out of the hospital and still a long way from recovery is, instead of obeying orders and sitting on her ass, having a fucking _clear-out._

I feel the anger bubbling up from deep inside me and even as I speak, I can hear how pissed off I am.

"What the _hell_ do you think you're doing Scully?"

She has the decency to at least look contrite, folding her arms across her chest and dropping her gaze away from mine.

Because, stubborn pride or not, she knows that this is wrong. I mean, she's a _Doctor_ for Gods sake.

But then again, Scully is like me - never been too good at following her own advice.

"I was bored." she admits finally, sounding, for all the world like a petulant child. I almost expect her to jut her lower lip out.

The sudden mental image of pouty Scully though does little to dispel my anger. In fact if I'm honest, I am fighting the urge to grab her by the arms and attempt to shake some sense in to her.

Not exactly the best course of action, given her current condition.

So instead, I just settle on a tone of voice that could cut through glass, given the right circumstances.

"I don't care how fucking _bored_ you are Scully, you were told to _rest_. You _promised to rest_. Jesus Christ, you almost _died_. What's the matter with you?"

My voice rises in volume until I am right on the cusp between firm voice and shouty voice. Her neighbours will be hammering on the wall in a minute.

But right now I don't care.

Scully on the other hand, apparently _does_ care. And if looks could kill...well, let's just say that this months triple X membership payment would have been $50 wasted.

She doesn't like being shouted at. She never has and the coward that lurks beneath my hardened exterior wishes he could pull the words back in.

Or at least lower the volume a little.

"Stop being so damn melodramatic all the time Mulder. I didn't _almost die_ and you know it."

She is breathing hard. We both are. Only I'm not wincing the way she is. Shouting back at me has obviously pulled at her wound and suddenly I feel like the most selfish shit in the world.

No, that's not big enough. Try the universe.

So I battle to bring my emotions under control. Emotions that are still raw enough to make my throat tighten every time I think of her lying, bleeding and in pain on that hospital gurney.

I hate to see Scully in pain. Especially since she hides it so well. It makes it hard to really gauge what she needs sometimes.

But that's _my_ problem, not hers.

I back away from her slightly to give her some space, wanting to reach out to her, but not knowing how. So I fall back on the only thing I have left.

 _The truth._

Softly spoken, almost whispered.

"No, you didn't. But you _might_ have done and that's just as hard to handle Scully. I wasn't there. I should have been there."

Sudden understanding floods her features and her eyes film as tears gather at their corners.

Because if I'd been there I would have been covering her back. Just like she covers mine. Splitting us up made us vulnerable.

Had made _her_ vulnerable.

 _She could have fucking died. And I wouldn't even have known until the phone call came through._

That notion absolutely paralyzes me and it's been at the forefront of my mind for every second of every hour of every day since it happened.

That I wasn't there.

She chooses this moment to take a step towards me, bridging the gap I myself created only seconds ago. She lays a hand on my chest, at the point where she can feel my heart beating through the cotton shirt that covers it.

Her way of affirming to me that she is _here_.

That she's okay.

"I'm sorry Mulder. I guess I just make a lousy invalid."

Her whispered admission lightens the moment slightly and I am able to smile.

Scully _is_ a lousy patient. We both are. Maybe that's why we understand each other so well _. Like attracts like_ my Mother used to say.

Maybe that's the reason we argue so much.

Stubbornness isn't an endearing trait to posses, and my partner and I have both been blessed with it by the bucketful.

She remains there for a few seconds, until the air between us clears and we are able to breathe again.

And then I remember my reasons for coming here in the first place.

"I brought you flowers" I say stupidly.

Scully smiles then, not one of her usual tight lipped smirks this one. Oh no - this is a brilliant, full wattage grin that lights up her face and makes my stomach flip over lazily inside me.

I think I've had the pleasure of seeing this phenomenon maybe a half dozen times in our partnership and it knocks me squarely on my butt each and every time.

She takes the flowers from me gently.

"I'll put them in water."

And then the grin surfaces once again.

"You can clear up in here."

I don't argue.

XXXXX

It's much later now. I'm not really sure of the exact time. I removed my watch when I found myself standing at Scully's sink washing the remains of a hastily thrown together dinner off her china plates.

I actually _cooked_ for her. Not a practice I indulge in too often, and not one in which I profess to have any real skill.

But, even I can just about manage to put together a simple meal given the right circumstances, and since she had dutifully slipped back in to recovery mode, I was happy to experiment a little.

Thankfully, the results weren't too bad, although I'm damn sure she'll never taste bolognaise _quite_ like that again.

We didn't wind up watching the movie.

The damn thing wouldn't re-wind for some reason. I was disappointed at first. I mean, that was the sole purpose of coming here.

I wanted to sit with my partner and share a chick flick with her.

Instead though, what we actually shared was Rocky road ice cream straight from the tub and a bottle of chilled Turning leaf.

I listened to the sound of her laughter, and even though she winced every time she laughed it just didn't seem to matter.

And when she tentatively reached for my hand across the tiny space that separated us, I inwardly rejoiced.

I squeezed her hand tightly just like I had done when she lay on that gurney, about to be taken from me again.

Only this time it was different.

Because this time we are safe.

Exactly where we are meant to be.

Afternoon has turned in to night, and Scully is nestled against me, her head resting against my chest.

She finally lost the battle with herself about an hour ago, and succumbed to the healing sleep she so desperately needs.

And that's okay too.

Because I can feel her heartbeat. Mingling with my own until it blocks out everything else.

It chases away my fear, allowing me to relax fully for the first time since she left for New York without me.

And I feel my own eyelids are growing heavy, soothed by the feel of the woman against me.

 _My Scully_.

Today has been a good day.

Maybe I will play hooky more often.

END

I know it was pure fluff. I make no apologies. I've been mentally battling serial killers and Mulder-angst all afternoon and needed some light relief. Please review if you have enjoyed it. If not for me, do it for Mulder. He did buy her flowers after all.

Ally x


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